


Such Agreeable Friends

by language_escapes



Series: Chosen and Defined 'Verse [20]
Category: St Trinian's, St Trinian's (2007 2009)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, POV Character of Color, POV Female Character, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:56:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/language_escapes/pseuds/language_escapes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrea has a surprise for Taylor.  To say she isn't pleased is an understatement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such Agreeable Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my God, this is unabashed fluff. I feel shaky. Andrea/Taylor fluff, I don't even.
> 
> Title comes from a quote by George Eliot: "Animals are such agreeable friends; they ask no questions, they pass no criticism." And yes, that is very tongue-in-cheek.
> 
> The name of the cat comes from the Animorph series by KA Applegate.
> 
> Unbeta'd, un-Britpicked. Sorry in advance.

Taylor does most of the reconnaissance for their business. It’s only natural, really. Even out of St. Trinian’s, more worldly and mature (or something), Andrea has never given up on the Emo look. She still wears the dark eyeliner and the stylized “A,” the white foundation and dark lipstick. Taylor favors more subdued clothes, always has. She blends in, while people can’t help but stare at Andrea.

Also, she isn’t prone to histrionics or panicking at inconvenient times while Andrea, bless her heart, is. In times of true crisis, Andrea can usually pull it together, but she’s a nervous woman, and Taylor wouldn’t throw her to the wolves like that.

So when it comes time to observe their latest mark (Emily Thornton, age 43, CFO, mother of three, an embezzler who should have been caught ages ago), it is Taylor that shrugs into a hoodie and laces up her boots, while Andrea wanders about their flat, preparing to do whatever it is that Andrea does while Taylor is away.

In retrospect, this is perhaps a mistake.

She gets back late one dreary, rainy Sunday night, exhausted and irritated. Emily is a dull woman to watch, nothing interesting to say about her at all. Embezzling money is possibly the only exciting thing she’s ever done in her life. Taylor wants nothing more than to eat a sandwich, take a bath, and go to bed. She tugs her keys out, unlocks the door, walks inside, and is immediately set upon by what can only be described as a poofy, barking rat.

“Oi, bugger off!” she shouts, trying to kick the thing off her ankles. Whatever it is, it’s latched on tight, though, and all she manages to do is shake it around a bit. She reaches down and grabs it, only to have it let go of her boot and snap at her. “Bloody buggering fuck! Andrea!”

Andrea rushes into the foyer of their flat, looking distressed. “No, no!” she says, and Taylor is pleased that Andrea recognizes the severity of her situation, but then Andrea keeps talking. “Don’t hurt Fluffy, Taylor!” She scoops up the rodent into her arms, cooing softly at it.

Taylor pauses mid-snarl. “Fluffy?” she asks. Now that the miserable beast isn’t attacking her, she supposes that it is marginally less rodent-like than she originally thought.

“Yes,” Andrea says, beaming. “She’s our new Pomeranian.”

Taylor can’t decide if she should be looking at the terrifying fluffball in Andrea’s arms, or the terrifying girlfriend that decided they needed one. She finally settles on someplace in between. “Pomeranian?” she asks weakly.

“Yes.”

“Fluffy?” she asks, equally weak.

“Of course,” Andrea replies, sounding as though she thinks Taylor is a bit slow. “Can you imagine naming her anything else?”

“I can’t imagine naming her at all,” Taylor says, “since I don’t know why we have her to begin with.”

Andrea grins at her, and despite her confusion and irritation, she feels herself soften a bit. Just a bit, though. She still wants to wring Andrea’s neck, but maybe with a scarf rather than a wire garrote. 

“Well, you got that cat a few years back, so I know you like pets, but I’m allergic, and you were upset and all, so I thought, why not a dog? We’re more dog people, anyway,” Andrea explains, sounding ridiculously pleased with herself.

Now Taylor knows exactly where to look. She stares at Andrea, dumbfounded. “I was upset because you couldn’t breathe, you berk!”

“And because we had to get rid of Fluffer McKitty,” Andrea adds calmly.

“It was mostly the breathing,” Taylor corrects, and then pauses, frowning. “Wait, you named the damn cat? We had it for maybe two minutes before we ended up in hospital.” It had been an adorable cat, really. Despite what Andrea thinks, Taylor considers herself a cat person. She has to admire an animal that can look down on you, pure contempt in its eyes, even as it licks its balls.

“Of course,” says Andrea, sounding offended. “That was our baby, Taylor. Even if we did have to give her up. Anyway, that’s why I named our puppy Fluffy. After the kitten we could never have.”

“Oh dear Lord,” Taylor says.

******  
So, Fluffy and Taylor don’t get along, which is just typical. The damned animal seems to have a vendetta against Taylor. It- she- barks whenever Taylor walks into a room, attacks her ankles whenever she comes home, growls whenever Taylor sits down, and tries to eat Taylor’s face when she goes to lie down next to Andrea at night.

To say that she isn’t pleased is an understatement.

“Why does Fluffy hate me?” Taylor asks Celia miserably, sitting in her teashop rather than going home. It’s come to that, really. Rather than rush home to be with Andrea, she finds herself haunting her friend’s places, desperate to find a reason to stay away.

“Maybe Fluffy can sense the hatred in your heart,” Celia says, smiling. She pours herself a cup of tea and sits down at the table with her. “Have you tried approaching her with respect and love?”

Taylor scowls at her. “Whatever,” she mutters. Celia prattles on about love and honesty and the circle of life, or something, until Taylor takes her leave, almost looking forward to having her ankles mauled if it means not having to listen to Celia quote Cesar Millan one more time.

Truthfully, though, she has tried to be kind to the dog, if only for Andrea. Andrea adores it. She’d never been allowed pets as a child. Her mum was violently opposed to dogs, and since Andrea was allergic, they’d never been allowed cats. 

“We had a goldfish, once,” Andrea tells her sadly over dinner one day, Fluffy sitting in her lap and chewing at one corner of Andrea’s steak. “It went belly up two days after we got it. I cried so much that my mother never allowed pets in the house again.”

She smiles down at Fluffy and scratches behind her ears. The dog whines contentedly, pushing her head up into Andrea’s hand. Taylor grits her teeth and decides to just live with the dog. She clearly loves it, and Taylor tries to love what makes Andrea happy.

Later that night, she discovers her favorite shirt chewed to bits, and she finds herself reassessing the decision.

It’s like Fluffy has declared war on Taylor. She sleeps on the sofa six nights out of seven, since Fluffy tries to kill her at night. Fluffy throws up on her shoes, and pisses all over her best coat, the one that she uses to threaten their marks, the one that makes her look that much more dangerous.

“Maybe if you were nicer to her,” Andrea says, holding Fluffy back as she snaps and snarls at Taylor. “Give her a treat, then?”

Taylor, who is _sitting on the fucking counter_ in order to avoid getting mauled by an animal that looks like a mutated dust bunny, resists the urge to throw the tin of dog treats at Andrea’s head and says instead, “Maybe if you gave her less, she wouldn’t be so fat.”

She sleeps on the sofa that night. Because of Andrea, this time, not Fluffy.

Taylor considers poisoning Fluffy. She’s never been much for poisoning, so it’s not like Andrea would really suspect her, but she isn’t much for killing animals, either. Even if this one isn’t innocent or helpless, like Andrea keeps insisting. Then again, Andrea likes to insist that Taylor is innocent and helpless, so it’s possible her judgment is impaired.

So if poisoning is out- which, all right, _yes_ \- and she’s unwilling to send the dog into the wilds of London on general principle (because Taylor suspects London wouldn’t survive Fluffy, not the other way around), that really only leaves one option.

Revenge.

******  
“Andrea!” Taylor shouts as she walks into their flat, struggling to contain her surprise (revenge) for her partner. “Come here! I got a surprise for you!”

Somewhere toward the back, she can hear Fluffy start barking away, the sound of her nails over their wooden floor alerting her for an incoming ankle attack. Taylor grins. Today is going to be a good day.

Fluffy comes skittering around the corner, teeth bared, fur standing on end, and freezes, almost in mid-bark. Taylor’s grin widens. Oh, yes. This was definitely the best option.

Andrea walks out and freezes too. “Taylor?” she asks, sounding a bit nervous.

Taylor pats her surprise on the head. “Andrea, Fluffy, please meet Killer, our new Great Dane.”

Killer lets out a low, almost mournful bark, and lays down- right on top of Fluffy.

******  
After that, things get better.

Andrea falls in love with Killer pretty quickly, despite her initial distrust. Even though Killer is huge, big enough to topple either of them when he stands up on his hind legs, he’s nothing but a big sweetie, content to curl up on the sofa and eager to lick whomever comes near.

“I wish you would have asked, though,” Andrea admits later, half buried under Killer. “We could have introduced Fluffy and Killer properly. Would have spared Fluffy some trauma.”

Taylor decides not to point out that that was the _point_ , the trauma.

For a glorious week, Fluffy is cautious in their house. She hides a lot from Killer (which Taylor finds hysterical, and Andrea does not), and is too scared to piss in Taylor’s shoes. She doesn’t even bark that much, which even Andrea admits is kind of nice.

After a week, though, Fluffy decides to go back to being herself. But instead of Taylor being her target, it’s Killer.

She goes yapping around Killer, snapping at his ankles, jumping up in order to bite at his neck, and Killer seems to find it all very amusing. And when Killer gets bored with the game, he simply lifts on paw up, pins Fluffy, and licks her until her fur is slick with dog spit.

That bit is disgusting, but the rest just sends Taylor into peels of laughter.

“It is better this way,” Andrea says, smiling. They’re sitting on the sofa together, watching as Fluffy jumps on top of a sleeping Killer and starts to gnaw on his ear. Killer opens his eyes, snorts, and goes right back to sleep. “You seem less inclined to kill our baby.”

Taylor rolls her eyes. “You realize she’s not a child, right? She’s a pet. A dog. A bad dog, at that.”

“She’s a good dog,” Andrea protests, kicking her gently. “She just has moments.”

“I think she’s just had the one, really,” Taylor says, smirking. “One long moment. One that hasn’t ended yet.”

Andrea chooses to ignore her in favor of watching Fluffy slides off Killer and tries to bite his paw. Killer opens his mouth and chomps down- gently- on Fluffy’s head. He doesn’t even open his eyes. Andrea smiles faintly and tips over towards Taylor, resting her cheek on Taylor’s shoulder. Taylor kisses the top of her head. Everything is perfect and still.

Seconds later, Fluffy starts barking wildly, her head still trapped inside Killer’s mouth. Andrea laughs and Taylor groans.

“I’m gonna fucking _kill_ that dog, Andrea.”

“Sure you are,” Andrea says, smiling as she twists around to kiss Taylor gently. “Sure you are.”


End file.
